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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25985260">I Don't Know: Rewrite</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_W/pseuds/Anna_W'>Anna_W</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:00:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25985260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_W/pseuds/Anna_W</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A rewrite and condensation of a prior story I've posted. Same characters, somewhat different plot, and hopefully better writing. Let me know what you think!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Spot Conlon/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">PROLOGUE</span> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <span class="u">Manhattan, New York</span> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <span class="u">1901</span> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Jack Sullivan had been anything but boring in his pursuit of Katherine Moore. And although time and again the Pearl Street druggist's sixteen year old daughter had dismissed his advances with an eye roll, she had still found something strangely charismatic and endearing about the former Manhattan newsboy. It had certainly helped that he had readily offered her compliments, detailing her beauty and singular charm, while also slipping in mention of his brave leadership role in the citywide newsboys' strike two years prior. But she had only laughed at these flashy attempts to woo her, ending the interaction with a clearly resounding “no” each time. As the weeks went on,however, even she could not deny the smile that began to grow on her lips when he would appear with more of the same.</p><p> </p><p>Katherine’s mother and father had also taken notice of Jack's sudden interest in their eldest daughter, and had not been shy in showing their displeasure. There had been condemnatory “tuts” from her mother, Effie, in response to her daughter’s spirited banter with the ragged-looking boy, and stern stares from her mustached father, Edward, at the sight of Jack loitering around their family pharmacy. But because of Katherine’s natural inclination toward independence, and her parent’s long-standing history of poor supervision, Jack was allowed to continue his pursuit with little to no real deterrence.  </p><p> </p><p>Katherine had noted her parent’s unease with Jack. But, as the weeks had gone by, she had found herself unable to stop thinking about the handsome nineteen year old. And there he had been, day after day, not giving her a chance to forget. Thus, Jack Sullivan eventually received the answer he had been seeking, unbeknownst to Mr. and Mrs. Moore, and a deal had been struck between himself and Katherine. She had agreed to give the Manhattaner a few hours of her time, and in return, Jack would finally leave her be if she still remained wholly unimpressed afterward. </p><p> </p><p>So on a cool fall day in early October, Jack had led the way to a restaurant named Tibby's, a gentlemanly manner in his air as he had suavely opened the door for his lovely date. </p><p> </p><p>"Ey, Katie, what doya wanna eat?" </p><p> </p><p>Jack had boisterously smiled at the pretty green-eyed girl as he had posed his query, a hesitant smirk appearing on Katherine’s lips in turn. </p><p> </p><p>She had cocked an eyebrow before coyly stating, “I thought I told you that I’m not fond of nicknames.” But upon noting his charming wink in response, she had rolled her eyes and continued, “And I didn’t know you were planning on treating me to lunch. That is surprisingly thoughtful of you.” </p><p> </p><p>His smile had been unwavering as he had replied, “Only the best for you, dollface.” </p><p> </p><p>She had chuckled slightly to herself, musing, “I suppose I can stay for a short lunch. I am quite a fan of the roast beef here.” </p><p> </p><p>At that, Jack had smoothly replied, “Roast beef it is then.” And upon walking up to the counter, he had quickly pulled some clanking change from his pockets to make their order. </p><p> </p><p>Katherine had remained behind, somewhat unsure of herself, especially when she had suddenly noted the dozen or so pairs of eyes peering curiously at her from all corners of the room. They were all unfamiliar faces, though most looked as Jack did----with mismatched clothing and unkempt hair. But it was the ink stains on their hands that led Katherine to assume they too were in the "pape business" as Jack had called it. Their stares were somewhat unnerving, but not completely unfriendly. So, Katherine had finally managed a small smile in response, nodding her head in salutation. </p><p> </p><p>Yet after turning around to check on Jack's progress, the dark-haired girl found herself smacking face first into a shockingly solid form. She had quickly backed away, a look of annoyance on her face from the unexpected collision. But upon lifting her gaze to irritably confront the thoughtless soul at fault, her mouth had closed of its own accord at the sight of the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.  </p><p> </p><p>She noticed their striking cerulean hue, and the pride and strength that reflected in their depths. The boy's mouth was twisted harshly into his own look of annoyance but quickly softened to a light scowl, revealing an even more attractive face. Katherine watched him eye her with curiosity, looking to her wide stare and then slowly taking in the rest of her body. His more in-depth observation had secured an unexpected blush from the awe-struck girl, but before she had been able to speak, the handsome stranger had straightened his hat and muttered, “‘Scuse me.” </p><p> </p><p>She had shaken her head, attempting to rid herself of the involuntary coma that had seemed to suddenly set in. And strangely her eyes had continued to follow his form as he had sat at a table by himself. Several "hellos" and "heyas" had been directed towards him, but he had merely tipped his cap at all of it, unaffected by the loudness and attention.</p><p> </p><p>However, Katherine’s own attention had been taken again by Jack's swift moving arm around her waist as he had pulled her over to the very table the boy had settled at. </p><p> </p><p>“Heya, Spot,” Jack had said, smiling good-naturedly as the boy, Spot, had looked up at the pair before him. He had nodded to Jack in salutation, then had turned his attention to Katherine, a smirk on his lips and a spark in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>"Why Jacky-boy, is this the girl you've been blabberin' about all these weeks? The one that won't give ya' the time a' day?"</p><p> </p><p>Jack shook his head, shooting a sheepish look in Katherine’s direction and shrugging. But Katherine only rolled her eyes, sticking her hand out immediately toward Spot and saying, "I'm actually quite capable of speaking for myself, thank you. My name is Katherine Moore. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Spot."</p><p> </p><p>Spot’s eyes widened somewhat in surprise before he gently took her hand, pulsed it and murmured, “Most girls seem ta think so, doll.” </p><p> </p><p>Katherine had squinted in mild distaste as Spot and Jack had shared a knowing chuckle. But before she had been able to say one challenging word in response, Spot’s attention had turned quickly back to Jack as he had said, “Y’know, it took ya forever ta get 'er here, Jack. Ya might wanna make sure she stays…"</p><p> </p><p>Spot's eyes had flashed to the chair Katherine had been standing next to, causing Jack to clumsily pull the seat out for her. And though she had immediately taken her place at the table-----thanking Jack for his politeness----Katherine had continued to stare perplexedly at the handsome boy across from her. </p><p> </p><p>The three had sat there in thoughtful silence for several moments until their food had come. And then slowly they had settled into one another’s company for what was only an hour, but happened to be just long enough for Katherine to glean a clearer picture of her two tablemates. While Jack and Spot had waxed on about their various borough triumphs and struggles, Katherine had come to realize that the leanly-built, blue-eyed boy in front of her was none other than <em>the</em> Spot Conlon of Brooklyn labor union fame. And suddenly, all of the surrounding details had begun to make sense---from the reverent stares that were shot out of all corners of the room toward the two boys, to the easy comradery Jack and Spot had seemed to share in turn.</p><p> </p><p>What Katherine did not see, however, was the way that Spot's striking gaze had intently surveyed her every move that day. Or the covetous spark that reflected in those clear blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Katherine had been intrigued by Jack Sullivan, yes. But, more importantly, she had been enticed by what world of freeing possibilities had lain before her in succumbing to his advances. The unspoken, and somewhat enigmatic tension simmering at the table that day had been visceral. And perhaps it was Katherine's seemingly unquenchable search for freedom that had set things into the irreversible motion that had resulted shortly thereafter. But it would take the events of the next four years---as well as the much greater tragedy that was just beginning to unfold for Katherine----to truly define how their three separate paths would eventually become entwined.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <span class="u">CHAPTER 1</span> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Brooklyn, New York </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>1903</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ya need to come with me, boss. Somethin’s happened.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Spot Conlon’s body shook as the voice of his second in command, William “Rummy” Byrne, echoed within his head for what felt like the thousandth time that night. The conversation that had followed was nigh twelve hours old now, but the words still rang fresh with mounting dread.</p><p> </p><p>He had of course gone with Rummy early that morning, irritably slumping his way to a deserted side street near The World’s Brooklyn distribution center. And upon coming to stand face to face with one of his messengers, a skinny eleven-year-old named Flit, he had crossed his arms over his chest and nodded for the boy to get to whatever news he had to share.   </p><p> </p><p>“I just got back from ‘Hattan,” Flit had murmured nervously after several moment’s pause, his small grey eyes darting anywhere but into Spot’s sharp blue ones. </p><p> </p><p>Spot had shrugged, looking from Rummy to Flit, then back between them again, before finally raising his hands to say, “And? What of it?” </p><p> </p><p>Spot was not an habitually ill-tempered man. The peace that had prevailed over his eight year reign of Brooklyn was an undeniable testament to this. But with several poor nights’ sleep haunting his frame and a multitude of other stressful situations already piled atop his plate, he had found himself widening his eyes in further annoyance when Flit had begun to anxiously mumble, “Well, I—ya see—I—” </p><p> </p><p>But Rummy, immediately sensing Spot’s impatience, had quickly intervened by setting a steadying hand upon Flit’s shoulder and saying, "Just tell Conlon what ya told me, alright?” </p><p>Spot too had attempted to steady himself for whatever news had lain ahead, Flit's eyes still nervously surveying him as he had begun, "Ya see, I woulda come back sooner but I had ta keep lookin'—I could see everythin' until I couldn't anymore an' I even seen her climb out the back window but after that—"</p><p> </p><p>"What in the hell are you talkin' about?" Spot had interrupted with a shake of his head.</p><p> </p><p>"The one I been followin', Spot," Flit had murmured. "The girl in Manhattan—the pretty one who does the deliveries all over."</p><p> </p><p>"Katherine,” Spot had confirmed, his jaw tightening in heightened displeasure at Flit and Rummy’s corresponding nods.</p><p> </p><p>Truthfully, he had almost rolled his eyes as her name had left his own lips. And even though years of history existed between him and the sharp-tongued conundrum of a girl, he hadn’t wanted to talk about anything remotely involving her. If he were really being honest with himself though, this immediate disdain might have been somewhat influenced by the horribly contentious way their last meeting had ended three days prior. </p><p> </p><p>And the fact that from almost the first day he had met her, she had seemed to pervade all his waking and sleeping thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>However, he had quickly shaken himself back to alertness, the image of the strange, impish girl leaving his mind as he had distractedly muttered, “I ain’t interested in talkin’ about her. Just head back over there an’ keep an eye on her like you have been, will ya?”</p><p> </p><p>But as Spot had gone to turn away, Flit had exasperatedly persisted. "Spot, I'm tryin' ta tell ya---I seen her climb out the back window of her folk’s place. But when I turned the corner she weren't there no more."</p><p> </p><p>Spot had narrowed his eyes, again looking between Rummy and Flit before asking, “Well, where is she now?” </p><p> </p><p>"Boss, that's what Flit's sayin'. He ain't been able to find her for three days," Rummy had said, staring at Spot meaningfully.</p><p> </p><p>Spot had felt the color begin to drain from his face as some of Flit's nonsensical snippets had started to fix into something of substance. But, still unable to fully grasp the extent of what was being said, he had mumbled, "Didja check her parent's store? Or the park? She goes to that park a lot an'—"</p><p> </p><p>"Conlon," Rummy had interjected gently, placing a comforting hand on Spot's shoulder. "Her parents contacted the bulls. She ain't been home for days now. She's gone."</p><p> </p><p>Almost nothing took Spot by surprise anymore, but the shock that he had felt in the wake of this unexpected announcement had been wholly immobilizing. And this strange, hollow feeling in the bottom of his gut had yet to wane, even as Spot now stared up into the darkening sky, noting the cloudless night unfolding before him. He was utterly befuddled, completely unhinged and these were not feelings that the Brooklynite was comfortable with experiencing, let alone admitting.  </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>She's gone.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Flit and Rummy had repeated this sentiment over and over again as Spot had stood in that small side street unable to comprehend what any of it meant. And now, even with multiple hours to process the information, Spot still felt like his head might explode. Flit had assured him that he had searched high and low, all of Katherine’s regular haunts—the seedy clients that she so frequently dealt with, but to no avail. She—the beautiful girl from Manhattan—had seemed to disappear off the face of the earth, leaving no trace of herself behind.</p><p> </p><p>But as a cold wind suddenly wisped past him as he stood on the Brooklyn Lodging House roof, an ever-pressing need began to fill him. </p><p> </p><p>He had to get her back. </p><p> </p><p>“God dammit,” Spot hissed as he deftly rolled and lit a cigarette, inhaling a puff of his smoke before murmuring almost tenderly to the empty night around him, “Where are you, Kate?” </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">CHAPTER 2</span>
  </strong>
</p><p>Katherine Moore was nothing but trouble.</p><p> </p><p>At least that’s the only thing Spot Conlon could think to say when Jack had asked him to share his thoughts on the dark-haired girl that he had brought with him to Tibby’s the week before.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Jack had responded quickly, running a hand through his hair and laughing somewhat uncomfortably as they made their way out of O’Malley’s pub.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a cool night in Brooklyn, and Spot had been more than happy to spend a few hours with his old friend. He had been somewhat surprised when the Manhattaner had shown up suddenly at the docks asking if he could buy Spot a drink, but nonetheless willing to oblige. If there was one thing that Spot Conlon wasn’t going to turn down, it was free whiskey. But after a few hours of enjoyable, though mindless chatter, Jack had decided to bring up Katherine Moore. And that’s when Spot had been ready to wrap up the evening.</p><p> </p><p>Upon noting the Manhattaner’s sly smile and distant stare, Spot had raised his eyebrows, asserting “And that’s somethin’ you’re willingly signin’ up for?”</p><p> </p><p>Jack laughed, slapping Spot good-naturedly on the back, “Well, you know what they say about girls that’ve got a little spirit in ‘em.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Spot quickly replied, pulling a half-smoked cigarette out of his breast pocket before leaning back against the brick overlay of the pub. “They ain’t worth the headache.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, I take it you weren’t that impressed by her? Was it ‘cause she smarted off to ya a few times?” Jack had asked coyly, crossing his arms over his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Spot lit his cigarette, taking a deep inhale. He knew Jack was playfully baiting him, but he found himself unwilling to be as forthcoming as he usually would have been. He blew the smoke out to the cool night air surrounding them, finally shrugging and saying, “You got yourself a regular broad on your arm, Sullivan. She’s a looker, sure, but I know you got quite a few other nice ones stashed around ‘Hattan already.” Jack had chuckled, shaking his head before Spot had sighed and continued, “But if you think this one’s worth addin’ to that list, then I say cheers to the headache and Godspeed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, I figured that’s what you’d say,” Jack had conceded thoughtfully, looking up into the clear sky above them. “I guess I’m just gettin’ tired of the same old shit, is all. I mean, don’t <em>you</em> ever get tired of the skirt-chasin and want somethin’ more?”</p><p> </p><p>Spot had inhaled off his cigarette again, smirking. “I do alright as is. Don’t spend too many nights on my own. Always someone willin’ and ready when I am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you ain’t ever been one to really challenge yourself by goin’ after a girl with somethin’ to say,” Jack added off-handedly.</p><p> </p><p>“And you have?” Spot challenged as he flicked his cigarette butt into the darkness beyond. “If I remember correctly, the last time you got a want for somethin’ more, that girl made a big fuss all over town ‘cause you weren’t too good at keepin’ yourself outa other women’s beds.”</p><p> </p><p>Jack scowled at Spot’s incisive comment, hurt filling his dark brown eyes as he huffed, “Don’t fuckin’ bring up Sarah, Spot. You know I don’t like talkin’ about that shit.”</p><p> </p><p>Spot shrugged, feeling a pressing need to end the uncomfortable conversation as quickly as possible. “Look, Jack. Here’s how I see it. In this world, it’s a fuckin’ Godsend to have women willing to warm your bed every once in a while and then busy themselves with whatever the hell else they do until you get a hankerin’ again. Anything more, and you’re just beggin’ for trouble. And that girl, Katherine—I can already tell she’s nothin’ but.”</p><p> </p><p>“Be nice,” Jack had finally replied, a wry smile touching his lips as he had begun to head in the opposite direction from Spot. “I’m thinkin’ about bringin’ her around more and I don’t want you scarin’ her off.”</p><p> </p><p>“If she’s as spunky as you say she is, then she oughta be able to handle it,” Spot had quipped back with a passive shrug. “The real question is, how much of her are you gonna be able to stomach? I’d put money on a week, maybe two, tops.”</p><hr/><p>Spot couldn’t help the grimace that passed through his body as the words he and Jack had shared almost two years before washed over him. A cold wind blew across the Manhattan street he now traversed, but his mind was elsewhere—in a distant time and place. A time when he had been so sure of everything surrounding him—his purpose in life, his friends, his thoughts about the world and the people in it. But a lot had changed in those two years. Almost everything had.</p><p> </p><p>Especially his thoughts on Kate.</p><p> </p><p>Had he really been that callous? That quick to write Kate off as nothing more than a nuisance?</p><p> </p><p>Maybe that had been all he was willing to say out loud at the time. Because from almost the first moment he had met those bright green eyes of Kate’s, he had been able to think of little else. Spot knew that his sudden fascination with her had been about more than just her looks though. He had had his fill of girls just as pretty as she. No, he was certain. It was something more than that—something almost intangible about her presence. He had felt it the first day he had met her in that diner with Jack, but he hadn’t been able to discern what it was until much later.</p><p> </p><p>That day, her company had only irked him, so much so that he had planned on avoiding both Manhattan and Jack until his friend had finally had his fill of the bothersome girl. And perhaps if he had managed to keep his distance from her as he originally intended, he really would have thought nothing more about her. But it seemed something more powerful had been at play in bringing the two of them into the same spaces, time and again. And he still wasn’t sure whether he felt blessed or cursed by the outcome.  </p><p> </p><p>He pulled his cap lower onto his brow as he noted several well-to-do looking boys laughing and talking on a corner he passed. He huffed, somewhat jealous of the freedom they imbued, a right of passage in youth to which he had never been privy.</p><p> </p><p>Being born into the slums of Irishtown had held few benefits for Spot beyond teaching him to survive. From a very early age he had been forced to become a savvy fighter and an even better predictor of people. It had been these skills, as well as his wry wit, calculating mind and quick instincts, that had allowed him to so quickly rise in the ranks of the Brooklyn newsies, becoming the youngest boy crowned their leader at twelve. And these same traits that, four years later, had pushed him to the top tier of command during the Newsie Strike of 1899.</p><p> </p><p>But he had been a kid then, and things that he had once thought would open doors for him had only ended up reminding him of his place in this world. Sure, he was bright—a natural leader some had even said. But none of it meant shit unless you had the money to back it up. And Spot had learned very quickly that the people who had all the money didn’t take too kindly to sharing it, regardless of what you brought to the table.</p><p>Perhaps that was where his true callousness had started, in the months following the strike. He had been a boy king, revered by his peers all over the city. People had known his name. But once he had taken that awe and tried to use it as some sort of social currency anywhere else, he found out just how little his life meant in the grand scheme of things. And that was something he had not been able to hide his bitterness about for a long time following.</p><p>That is until Kate had come on the scene. </p><p>Spot sighed as he passed a hand through his hair rounding a corner and heading toward a line of dingy tenement houses. He was just able to make out the right one in the darkness. Taking in a steadying breath, he marched up the steps purposefully, wrapping his knuckles against the closed, locked door. </p><p>The silence and stillness that pervaded for the next several moments was unnerving. He looked toward the shaded window next to the entrance for any signs of life inside. Nothing.</p><p>“Dammit,” he hissed through his teeth.</p><p>He knew coming here would be a fool’s errand. Another fucking dead end. So why had he even attempted it?</p><p>
  <em>She’s gone. </em>
</p><p>A sharp pang of hurt reverberated his insides in immediate response to the thought. The girl he had originally written off as wholly inconsequential—a passing fancy for the likes of Jack Sullivan—was now the focus of almost all his time and energy.</p><p>Good God, the irony was so blatant, he was surprised he hadn’t choked on it.</p><p>Of course, his initial opinion of Kate had not remained stagnant for long. It had slowly morphed into something far more complicated in the wake of a few interactions they had shared in the months following his conversation with Jack at O’Malley’s.</p><p>The first had been a late-night vaudeville show that he had attended with Jack and several other old friends from his newsie days. But when Jack had shown up with Kate on his arm, he had inwardly groaned. She had genially greeted him and the other two men there with quiet charm before they had all entered the theater together. And the evening had gone on with little more to report, until he had left his seat to get a refill from the bar.  He hadn’t even noticed that Kate had vacated her seat next to Jack several minutes prior to him until he saw her leaning her back against the worn wooden slab of the bar and slowly nursing a cocktail. Her eyes were distantly watching the stage beyond and a contented smile settled upon her mouth. He sighed, thinking of turning back to avoid an interaction with her, but the pull for more whiskey was always stronger than any potential discomfort he may incur.</p><p>He had sauntered up to the spot next to her, muttering, “Double whiskey, neat,” to the bartender.</p><p>“So, I hear you think I’m trouble.”</p><p>Spot felt his heart jump into his throat, somewhat thrown off by not only her unexpected statement, but also the matter-of-fact way she had said it. However, upon recovering, he simply raised his eyebrows, shooting her a sideways glance. Her eyes met his with humor, a smirk pulling at the side of her lips.</p><p>“Jack has a big mouth,” Spot replied after several moments of silence had passed between them.</p><p>“He does,” she agreed, turning back to the show. “But there are worse things to be guilty of.”</p><p>“Like?” Spot had asked, somewhat intrigued.</p><p>“Idle chatter.”</p><p>He found himself unable to help the chuckle that escaped his mouth. And she shot him a warm smile in turn. A somewhat comfortable silence fell over them as Spot collected his drink and turned to face the show as well.</p><p>“So are you?” he posed after several moments passed between them.</p><p>She slowly turned her head toward him, a spark in her green eyes. “Trouble?”</p><p>He nodded, intimating for her to elaborate. And after chuckling to herself she shrugged. “Undeniably. Loads of trouble. I’ve been kicked out of a finishing school. I drink and smoke. And, don’t tell anyone, but I’m planning on journeying to the forest later tonight to conjure up potions and have congress with the devil.”</p><p>“Alright, alright,” Spot had said with a laugh, taking a quick swig of his drink. “No need to exaggerate. I get it. I shouldn’t have made any quick assumptions about you.”</p><p>She shook her head, her smirk growing. “Well, to be honest, only one of the things I said is untrue.”</p><p>“Please tell me it’s the forest one.”</p><p>Her full laugh sounded so melodic, so lovely, that Spot found himself surprisingly wanting to make her do it again. Her eyes lit up, turning an even brighter shade of green as she squinted at him. “You are a master of deduction, I’m in awe—really. But I suppose I should have expected nothing less from the King of Brooklyn.”</p><p> “<em>Yeah? What do you want</em>?”</p><p>The image of Kate suddenly evaporated from Spot’s vision as he was jolted back to the present by a man opening the door in front of him. He had a scraggly, dark beard and shadowed eyes. “I said, what do you want?”</p><p>Spot blinked a few times, before shaking his head and asking, “You got someone named Sullivan living here?”</p><p>The man stared at Spot silently for a moment, seeming to be sizing him up. “Yeah, sure. But he ain’t in right now.”</p><p>The man went to quickly close the door in Spot’s face, but Spot swiftly asserted, “You know where he’s at? I’m an old friend.”</p><p>He paused with the door still open a sliver before sighing and muttering, “I seen him takin’ his lady friend out for the night. I suspect he’ll drop her off before he heads back this way.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Spot said. The man only nodded and then shut and locked the door behind him.</p><p>And with that Spot turned to walk toward a neighborhood he knew all too well. Of course Jack would be there. And maybe, if he was quick enough, he could cut him off before he made it all the way back.</p><p>The night was dark around him, the light fog that had settled overhead making familiar streets look foreign and hostile. He too felt like a stranger in this setting, displaced and desperate, lost in an unending maze of side alleys and hazy moving forms. </p><p>Maybe it was the unsettling fog surrounding him, or the almost immobilizing need for familiarity within him that made his thoughts so easily drift to Kate again. He had never fully realized what a comfort her presence had been to him until it had been so suddenly removed from his life. And it certainly wasn’t that her personality was in any way tranquil. Sure, she could have an ease about her that was almost disarming, but he had quickly found that she reserved a more challenging intensity for those that looked deeper. Her candor was off putting, but it had also drawn him in just the same, even in the beginning.</p><p>He saw her so clearly still, leaning against that bar at the show, a drink held sturdily in her hand and spark of mischief dancing in her green eyes.        </p><p>He remembered her taking a sip from her drink, her eyes focused on the stage as a new act walked onto it. But for some reason he had felt a need to query her further. </p><p>“So you’ve heard of me?” Spot asked after several moments of silence passed between them, watching her out of the side of his eyes.</p><p>“Of course,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “Spot Conlon. Brooklyn union organizer. Strike leader. Purveyor of justice, all while making most of the women in New York swoon at your good looks and charm.” She shrugged, chuckling, “Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”</p><p>“Well I’m certainly not gonna argue against any of that,” Spot said smugly, a smirk appearing on his lips. “But I don’t know how much justice purveying I’ve done lately. The strike was nearly two years ago now. And I’m pretty sure most things just went right back to the way they were.”</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> pretty sure that’s what the powers at be are hoping you’ll think.” She paused as Spot widened his eyes at her, but she only stared pointedly back, adding, “See, if they change the story so that we begin to forget, then they keep winning. Your job is to keep fighting. To keep making sure we don’t forget. So, maybe use a little more of that charm for leading and a little less for securing attractive bedmates, will you?”</p><p>The shock on his face secured another laugh from her. She continued chuckling, obviously entertained by his surprise before saying, “Like I said, I’ve heard of you.”</p><p>He shook his head to clear it, taking a large gulp of his drink, asking, “Do you talk to everyone like this?”</p><p>“Only those I find worthy of more than idle chatter.” She shot him a genuine smile before she sighed, “Well it seems the show is wrapping up, so I better start heading home. But there’s always more trouble on the agenda for tomorrow, don’t you worry.”</p><p>She shook her head as she pushed herself off the bar and placed her empty cup behind her, shooting a quick thanks to the bartender.</p><p>But before he could say anything in response, she had already started walking back toward where Jack had been sitting. </p><p>Spot nearly ran into a passerby as his thoughts suddenly returned to the present moment. He shook his head, clearing the fog of memories that had so easily taken over his focus before muttering a distracted, “Sorry,” to the man that huffed away from him.</p><p>With any luck, Jack would be up within the next few blocks. The chances of this were slim enough that he wouldn’t put money on it, but if all else failed he would just head back to the tenement and look for him there again. Spot still felt fairly confident that he’d at the very least see Jack tonight.</p><p>Now, getting him to agree to talk—well that was an entirely different story.  </p><p>Spot walked swiftly, cutting corners where he could. And thankfully, within ten minutes of his hurried journey, he saw Jack walking slowly toward him about a block up.</p><p>Something was finally going right.</p><p>“Jack!” Spot called, waving him over. The Manhattaner’s dark eyes widened in surprise as he made his way toward Spot.</p><p>“Spot Conlon,” Jack said as he neared the Brooklynite, still maintaining a fair amount of space between them. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen the likes of you in these parts. What brings ya to ‘Hattan?”</p><p>There was a tension that was readily apparent as the two men stood there sizing one another up, but neither said a word about it. Spot finally forced a smile and said, “Can I buy you a drink?”</p><p>Jack hesitated for a moment before shrugging and saying, “Sure. C’mon. I know a place up around the corner.”</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <span class="u">Chapter 3</span>
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</p><p>As the two walked, Jack shot a concerned sideways glance to Spot, but the Brooklynite avoided eye contact, remaining silent. He was too busy grappling with not just what he would say to Jack, but <em>how</em> he would say it. It was a sensitive situation and he needed both Jack’s understanding and his cooperation.  </p><p>But obtaining either was going to be no easy feat. He could already tell. </p><p>They made their way through the door of a small hole in the wall called Dempsey’s. Spot recalled having been there before once or twice, but never with Jack. He caught a barmaid’s attention from the opposite corner of the room and held up two of his fingers, calling, “Whiskeys.”</p><p>She nodded shortly, giving Spot a quick once-over before shooting him an alluring smile and murmuring, “Sure thing, honey.”</p><p>She couldn’t have been much older than Spot and Jack, but the rouge on her cheeks and the coal black eyeliner around her eyes made her look severe and aged. Spot only offered her a short nod in thanks before turning back to Jack.</p><p>“Over there,” Spot said waving toward a booth in the far back, away from the other patrons. </p><p>Once they had settled somewhat awkwardly into their seats, Jack sighed, running a hand through his mussed brown hair before raising his shoulders expectantly toward Spot.</p><p>“Well, watcha got for me, Brooklyn? I’m assumin’ we ain’t here to chat about the good ol’ days.”</p><p>Spot nodded steadily in confirmation. It had been a long time since the two had seen each other. Months, in fact. And after the contentious way their last interaction had ended, their relationship was certainly not on the best of terms. Spot had no difficulty imagining that Jack was less than thrilled to see him. But the fact that he had agreed to a drink in the first place had to be a positive sign.</p><p>Or maybe he was just there for the free booze. Regardless, Spot had little time to waste on coddling Jack’s sensitive feelings on the matter. </p><p>“Look,” Spot started, staring purposefully at Jack. “I know it’s been a while, and the two of us ain’t necessarily on good terms, but—” He paused, sighing heavily before saying, “I’ll just come out and say it. I need your help with Kate.”</p><p>Any signs of agreeableness in Jack’s face quickly vanished following Spot’s request. He stared steadily at Spot, his voice however, showing the real distaste he had for the topic. “You gotta lot a’ fuckin’ nerve, Conlon.”</p><p>It was then that the barmaid showed up with their drinks. Spot didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed as she slowly placed each glass in front of them, lingering somewhat awkwardly as she said, “You fellas need anything else from me?”</p><p>The question was obviously directed toward Spot, her dark eyes shining in invitation as she turned to step closer to him. But he nodded dismissively, clearing his throat as he pulled out a little more change than was owed and said, “I’ll call ya back over if we need somethin’ else.”</p><p>Spot’s voice was clipped as he immediately turned back to stare at Jack’s infuriated gaze. And, thankfully, the woman huffed away without another word. “Jack, listen. I know how this looks—me comin’ here and bringin’ her up, but it’s important. Have you seen her or heard from her?”</p><p>Jack’s face was stony as he replied, “I figured you’d a’ seen her much more recently than me.”</p><p>“I ain’t talkin’ about me,” Spot snapped somewhat impatiently. “Have <em>you</em> seen Kate lately?”  </p><p>“What do you mean, lately?”</p><p>Spot leaned back against the wooden booth, clenching his jaw in annoyance before hissing, “For God’s sake, Jack. Just answer the goddamn question!”</p><p>Jack’s jaw tightened as well. “You know I ain’t seen her since she ended things with me, Conlon. It’s been---what---eight, nine months.” He shook his head, irritable. “Come to think of it, that’s about the last time I saw you too.”</p><p>“What are you tryin’ to say?” Spot asked, a sharp warning in his blue eyes.</p><p>But Jack didn’t hesitate to seethe, “You know damn-well what I’m sayin’. It’s the same thing I told <em>her</em> a year ago.” He paused, taking a large swig of his drink before adding, “Y’know, I ain’t stupid, and I certainly ain’t blind. So I’d appreciate it if the two a’ you would quit actin’ like I was.”</p><p>Spot could tell that Jack had a lot more to say on the matter. But before the Manhattaner could get his next bitter accusation out, Spot held up his hand and sighed. “Look, you probably got a lot a right to be mad at her, and maybe even me, but all that’s beside the point right now.”</p><p>“How convenient,” Jack hissed as he clunked his drink down onto the table.</p><p>Spot nearly threw his arms up in exasperation. “None a’ this is fuckin’ convenient, Jack. I don’t wanna be here askin’ you this shit anymore than you want me to be. But I have to. I got nowhere else to go and I need your help.”</p><p>“You need my help? With Kate?” Jack looked incredulous. “Why the hell would I help you with anything havin’ to do with her?”</p><p>Spot sighed, taking a large gulp of his drink before murmuring, “Because she’s in trouble.”</p><p>Anger began to drain slowly from Jack’s face at Spot’s words. His brown eyes filled with confusion as he shook his head. “She’s in trouble? What the hell are you talkin’ about?”</p><p>Spot took another drink from his glass, his hand trembling slightly as he held it just above the table. His eyes stared beyond Jack’s, his voice quiet. “Someone took ‘er. She’s been missin’ for five days now.”</p><p>Jack shook his head again, running a hand through his hair in discomfort. “Nah. That don’t make sense.” Jack stared incredulously toward Spot. “I mean, you know how she is. She comes and goes. She don’t like no one monitoring her. Her own parents don’t know where she is half the time.”</p><p>“’Cause they don’t care to know,” Spot muttered darkly. “But I do. An’ I’m tellin’ you, she’s gone, and it wasn’t by her own choice.”</p><p>“How the hell would you even know that?” Jack demanded.</p><p>But Spot remained silent, leading Jack to add, “Come to think of it, when’s the last time <em>you’ve</em> seen her?”</p><p>Spot felt a pang of guilt reverberate through his body as he sipped the remainder of his whiskey, placing the now empty cup on the table and murmuring, “Six days ago.” </p><p>Jack’s face puckered further in confusion until he finally put his glass down and rubbed his hands roughly over his eyes. And after several moments of loaded silence, he dropped his forearms upon the table, leaning back against the old wood of the booth and shaking his head. </p><p>“Well, what about her parents?” Jack finally asked, still seemingly unconvinced. “If she’s been gone five days, surely they’ve noticed. Have you thought about goin’ and checkin’ with them?”</p><p>“Yeah, I thought a’ that first,” Spot said, waving his hand somewhat impatiently at the topic. “But you know how they are. I mean, her ma was constantly throwin’ her out the house whenever the mood struck her just right. But…there’s somethin’ strange about them too.”</p><p>Jack raised his eyebrows in curiosity. “Somethin’ strange about her parents?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Spot confirmed. “A couple a’ days after she went missin’, they called the bulls over about it. But then a day later, they called off the search. An’ she <em>still</em> hasn’t shown back up.”</p><p>Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Somethin’ ain’t right about that.”</p><p>“Exactly. Which is why I need your help,” Spot said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest in decisiveness.  </p><p>“I just told you I ain’t seen her in months, Spot. So, what the hell do you need me for? I wouldn’t know the first fuckin’ place to look for her.” Jack countered irritably. “Not to mention the fact that there ain’t no fuckin’ reason I <em>should</em> help.”</p><p>“Yeah there is,” Spot said with quiet assuredness, looking directly into Jack’s gaze.</p><p>“Oh, really? How do you figure?” Jack’s face was turning red from frustration, but there was a worry in his eyes that Spot could not ignore.</p><p>“’Cause you know people who might know where she is,” Spot stated evenly before quickly adding, “And ‘cause, after the piss poor way you treated her, you owe her this. Even though you get a bum rap, you’re actually a decent guy underneath it all. Kate would be the first person to say it, too.”</p><p>There was a long silence that permeated the crackling air around the two men. Jack’s eyes were narrowed, his jaw tight as Spot continued to stare steadily into his gaze.</p><p>But finally Jack relented, falling back against the wooden booth and sighing. He looked defeated and stressed, a darkness under his eyes that showed how much he had truly aged in the last year.</p><p>“Yeah, alright,” Jack said, tapping his fingers absently on the table. “I don’t know what the hell you think I can do, but fine.”</p><p>Spot nodded in tempered appreciation, watching as Jack downed the rest of his drink in one quick gulp. He grunted as he pushed the now empty glass away from himself, shrugging before he asked, “So, how do you know so much anyway? About her comings an’ goings? You two attached at the hip now?”</p><p>“No,” Spot said, somewhat defensively. “And I know because I know.”</p><p>Jack snorted, shaking his head. “<em>I</em> shoulda known not to question the mysterious Spot Conlon’s methods.” Spot rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in Jack’s tone, but Jack quickly added, “I gotta few ideas anyway. My guess is you’ve been puttin’ one a’ your boys on her. You already worried she’s cheatin’ with someone else?”</p><p>“Well, if she was seein’ someone else, it wouldn’t be cheatin’,” Spot countered passively, “’Cause we ain’t together.”</p><p>Jack’s eyes widened in honest shock, a heavy silence settling over the table. Finally Jack shook his head, raising his eyebrows as he said, “She ended things with me ‘cause a you, Conlon.”</p><p>“That ain’t true an’ you know it,” Spot quickly refuted. “You ran around behind her back all the time—shit, sometimes right in front of her face. You don’t think she noticed? Or cared? Give her more credit than that, Jack.”</p><p>“Give <em>me</em> a little credit, why doncha,” Jack challenged quietly. “Any idiot could see what was goin’ on between the two a’ you, Conlon.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, I ain’t interested in goin’ over whatever the hell Kate and me’s relationship was or wasn’t,” Spot said somewhat evasively, his eyes falling from Jack’s steady stare. “I’m interested in gettin’ your help. You still in contact with that kid Baletti?”</p><p>Jack quirked his head in surprise, muttering, “Kid Blink Baletti?” Upon noting Spot’s steady nod, the Manhattaner shrugged and said, “Sure, I guess. I see ‘im around, but we ain’t too close no more. Especially now that he’s a part a’ that gang—the Italian group. I’m sure you’ve heard of ‘em.”</p><p>“The Fiore family,” Spot confirmed quietly.</p><p>Jack looked expectantly at Spot. “So? What about him?”</p><p>“Well, seein’ as my boy saw a couple a’ those Fiore goons draggin’ Kate off from her parents’ place, I think we oughta pay good ol’ Kid Blink a visit.”</p><p>Jack’s dark eyes widened to their fullest breadth while he stared silently at Spot. And as the reality of the situation that Kate was in seemed to settle uncomfortably over the table, Spot sighed, looking imploringly at his old friend. He felt his hands clenching into tight, desperate fists at his side before he said, “Somethin’ bad’s gonna happen to her if I don’t find her. I know it in my bones. An’ any angle I can use to get at more information, I’m gonna use. I gotta find ‘er, Jack. I just—I gotta.”</p><p>Jack remained quiet for a few moments longer before sighing heavily. “I’ll probably regret sayin’ this, but,” he looked Spot in the eye meaningfully. “I’m in. What do ya need me to do?”</p>
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